


(Not Jane Austen's) Persuasion

by Janice_Lester



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Barely Legal, F/M, Mildly Dubious Consent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-08
Updated: 2012-10-08
Packaged: 2017-11-26 20:24:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/654077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Janice_Lester/pseuds/Janice_Lester
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The memories of his past conquests kind of creep Dean out a little bit, but they also turn him on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	(Not Jane Austen's) Persuasion

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the "consent play" square of my second 2012 [](http://kink-bingo.dreamwidth.org/profile)[kink_bingo](http://kink-bingo.dreamwidth.org/) card. May read as dubcon for the teenage-boy-pushing-teenage-girl-for-sex trope (though it's a fairly mild example). Dean is 18 in these memories; I intend his girlfriends to be of age also. Beta'd by [](http://ellethill.livejournal.com/profile)[ellethill](http://ellethill.livejournal.com/). **Continuity/Spoilers:** Vague setting is vague. You should be fine if you have a working knowledge of the characters.

Teenage boys are assholes, and Dean’s not stupid enough to think he was any kind of exception. He has a fair few regrets from that time, but he suspects everyone does. There are lots of good memories, too, of times their little family was all together, of the first hunts Sam was allowed to go on, of helping his brother with homework or giving him tips on talking to girls.

And then there were the girls _he_ talked to.

Dean remembers a glorious few who took him for what he was, who seemed to understand that he wasn’t going to stick around, that he wasn’t marriage material, but that he'd do his best to treat them well for however long it lasted.

Of course, he also broke hearts, he knows. Difficult to help that when you’re always on the move, dragged from town to town, will-o’-the-wisp, wherever and whenever the scent of a fresh hunt caught Dad’s attention. He _could_ have tried a bit harder to keep the broken-heart tally down, though.

Oddly enough, it’s the girls in the grey area he finds himself recalling most often, the ones he didn’t treat _right_ exactly, and he didn’t treat bad, the ones who just sorta fell somewhere in the middle.

Rebecca-Rose was the first one. He still remembers her face, the way the moonlight caught her nose and cheekbones as she leaned up against the back wall of her daddy’s barn, telling him some story about her friend Shelley while he thumbed circles over her nipples through her shirt and bra. It was technically Fall, but the nights were still warm. He can’t remember which Podunk town in which Southern state it was, but he remembers Rebecca-Rose, remembers the way he could actually sense her anxiety.

He seized on a break in her tale to kiss her, gently, slowly, all I-mean-you-no-harm. She relaxed into it after a moment, her hands coming up to stroke the front of his leather jacket, then to tickle the short hair at the base of his skull. The urge to pin her there against that wall, rut against her, was strong, but Dean was stronger. He just continued to kiss her, softly, so softly, to fondle her beautiful breasts.

She stiffened briefly when he transferred his attentions to her butt instead, cupping her cheeks through her short, wooly skirt. _Nice_. She finger-walked her hands down his chest, slipped them up under his t-shirt to find skin. Her hands were a little cool against his sides, and he had to subdue that urge again. His dick was aching hard in his shorts, and he wanted quite badly to undo his jeans and let it breathe, but right now he doubted that would go over well.

By the time he made another move they were kissing full-on, deep and with tongue, and she was really into it, making these tiny hungry sounds as she took control. Dean slid a hand off her behind and around her hip, felt the kiss falter as he cupped her mound, felt heat and damp on his palm.

“Can I?” he murmured, against the corner of her mouth, her cheek.

“What?”

He wasn’t sure whether she was asking him to clarify or whether she just hadn’t heard, but it didn’t matter. He shifted to whisper in her ear, like it was a secret, “I want to play with your pussy.”

She _shuddered_ , and when he pulled back to look her eyes seemed very big in the moonlight.

“That’s all,” he added softly. “Just that.”

And he knew, just knew, that experience—her own, a friend’s?—had warned her not to believe a guy when he said that. Not to trust that he wouldn’t push further.

Dean’s pants were suddenly even tighter. There was something, something in that idea that he liked. That he could do it, coax her into letting him, even if she didn’t quite trust him. Yeah. That he could prove himself worthy of trust. That he could shake her conviction that _you can’t trust them when they say that_ was a hard-and-fast rule.

“Just want to make you feel good,” he whispered, and wondered how many date-rapists had said exactly that over the years. Difference was, he meant it. Even if it wasn’t entirely altruistic; he was definitely gonna jerk off over this later.

“O-okay,” she whispered.

“Sure?”

He could almost hear her thinking about it, her gaze scanning back and forth across his face. She gave a jerky little nod.

“Gonna take real good care of you, baby.”

Beneath the fabric she didn’t feel like melted satin or whatever poetic crap people say, but she was wet and warm and so, so good and she widened her stance a little to give him access. Dean was polite. He located her pointy little clit first, gave it a firm rub that made her breath catch. Then he ventured back, slipped a fingertip in, gauged her response. She pulled him in for another kiss, and he swallowed her moan when he sank his finger in to the hilt. He fingered her slowly, insistently, other hand coaxing her to roll her hips in response. His dick liked the thought of burying itself in her, but Dean himself couldn’t resist the thought of licking his fingers clean after she’d come on them, so that’s what he worked towards.

“You are so hot,” he told her, between kisses. “I could come just from this, just from touching you like this.” She no doubt thought it was just a line, but it wasn’t, it really wasn’t. He was eighteen, after all. It really wouldn’t take much more than a quick rub against her to have him creaming his jeans, and maybe not even that. And if she kept making those tiny disbelieving whimpers—

Dean slipped his finger free, pushed back in with two.

“Oh,” she said, staring, kisses apparently forgotten.

Dean curled his fingers in. He wasn’t sure he really believed in the elusive g-spot, but this was a form of research he could totally get behind, and it wouldn’t hurt to try. The way her hips bucked suggested it felt good, anyways. He found her clit again with his thumb, set up a rhythm, rubbing circles with his thumb while he fucked her with his fingers. He was really getting off on this. The only thing better would be—

“Dean,” she squeaked, going up on her toes. Her eyes were closed, head tilted back, hands clutching spasmodically at his shoulders. “I can’t—I think—”

“Shh,” he told her. “Just enjoy.” He pushed deeper, faster. Released her hip to grab probably a little too greedily at her breast.

She came apart with a shocked little sound he was pretty sure would stay with him always, and a minor wobbling of knees. He worked her gently through it, then freed his hand and raised it to his lips.

Yeah, she tasted pretty awesome.

“Thanks.” Dean wiped his well-licked fingers on his shirt.

She looked up, eyes searching his face, small satisfied smile curving her lips. And he knew, just knew, that she would let him do her now, if he asked. Might not even write nasty things in her diary afterwards about how he'd tricked and seduced her.

“Come on,” he said, helpfully fixing her panties. “I’ll walk you back to the house.”

She opened her mouth to say something, then shook her head. Offered him her hand, which he took. They were definitely both smiling now.

Oh, yes, Dean remembers Rebecca-Rose. The Winchester clan had floored it out of town two weeks later, on the trail of something in a hospital that was causing strange deaths among the staff. She hadn’t cried, saying goodbye. But then, he’d said one of his goodbyes that made it sound like he’d be back again some time in the vague near-future. He never fucked her, but he must’ve jerked off a hundred times with her on his mind. Still does it, though it feels kinda creepy now he’s thirty and memory-her is still eighteen and virginal. Sometimes he wonders vaguely if she'd even remember him now.

The next girl was experienced, so he didn’t get to play that game. But the next one? Man, the next one.

Gaylene. Unfortunate name, but very fortunate genes.

“Stop, I don’t like it,” she said. He had just pushed a third finger inside her, because after two it had still felt like there was room there, which was hot.

So he stilled there, fingers plunged deep. Released the nipple he’d been sucking. Looked down at her face, haloed by all this golden hair spread around her on the pillow. “Does it hurt?” he asked, curious.

“Not really, I…” She frowned, chewed her lip in a way that was somehow cute _and_ sexy as fuck. Shook her head. “Just don’t like it, I guess.”

“Let me make you like it,” Dean said, and, yeah, he could hear the arrogance in his voice, but too late now.

She stared up at him, blue eyes intense. “You can try.” Her voice cracked into a nervous giggle at the end, and he knew it was not the answer she wanted to give. That her knee-jerk reaction must have been to say _no_. That really shouldn’t turn him on so much. But it did. It really did.

He did the thumb thing again, just kept her jammed full of those fingers while he rolled her big, juicy clit under his thumb over and over.

It seemed to work, because she relaxed a little, legs falling further open. And when he finally started to work his fingers again in gentle thrusts she made this surprised, amused sound that went straight to his balls, made them pull up a little in eagerness.

His wrist was starting to complain by the time she finally got off, but she came hard and long and it was completely worth it just to watch that, let alone hear it, feel it. Smell and taste it on his fingers after.

She got his jeans open with surprising deftness, reached in to grab his cock. “What else you think you can make me like?” she asked, with an air of mischief and actual confidence.

And Dean, despite the fact that her hand was dry and she gripped too hard, came all over them both after barely two strokes.

Yeah, he knew he was kind of an asshole back then. If you have to talk a girl into something, chances are she's just not ready for it yet. Okay, so he’s pretty sure he did no lasting damage, and he can’t really crucify himself over a little deft persuasion. But he can think he was a bit of a jerk. He still is, he knows, if he’s enjoying the memory of it. But those moments—those hanging, endless instants when a girl was deciding to trust him against her own better judgement, let him do something she had schooled herself to refuse, go out on an emotional limb for him—well, they’re precious memories and they still feature in his daydreams.

He’s different now, of course. He’s grown up. He likes women who know what they want, who demand things of him, who like sex and want sex and don’t have to be talked into a bit of a poke. And he’s a good lover, generous, he knows it. Actually, he’s pretty sure that lately his gratitude’s been embarrassingly clear during those encounters, few and far between, where he’s made some kind of actual connection with someone.

“Dude,” Sam says, “you shouldn’t read that in here.” His gaze flicks down to Dean’s pristine new issue of _Busty Asian Beauties_ , then around the cafe. “There are people here with their kids. And—” he nods faintly in the direction of the back corner, where a party of black-haired, almond-eyed co-ed types are eating colourful pastries and sipping coffee “—other people who might be offended.”

“Eh.” Dean waves a careless hand. “They might learn something.”

“Asshole.”

“Why yes,” Dean replies smugly, “yes I am.”

***END***


End file.
